


The Lucky Ones

by josiepug



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Halloween, Marauders' Era, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiepug/pseuds/josiepug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James and Lily are dead. October 31st from the perspectives of the survivors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lucky Ones

**Author's Note:**

> Finally a fic for my first fandom. Enjoy and review!

_“And if you’re still breathing,_

_“You’re the lucky ones”_

_\- Daughter, “Youth”_

Sirius Black knew it was all over. He knew it before he checked on Peter. He knew it before he started his motor bike. He knew it before he saw the house. The burned and broken house in which his best friend lay dead. In which his godson screamed without a mother to hold him. The war was over and with it the world had come crashing down.

And it was his fault. Wormtail had informed and Voldemort had cast the curse but it was he, Sirius Black, who had caused it. He had trusted the wrong people and now James and Lily were dead. There was nothing to be done.

Except the final thing. Peter Pettigrew would not escape this night alive. That was all he knew. Dimly, he heard Hagrid crying, talking to him about something. About Harry. Sirius said he would take him, that he could handle the boy. But that was a lie. There was only one thing in which he could not fail.

He gave Hagrid the motorbike. They may have exchanged a few more words, Sirius didn’t remember. And then Hagrid roared off into the night with the only person that connected Sirius to his life before. Before the burning, empty house and the bodies encased within. 

He disapperated.

***

_He’s after me._ That was all Peter Pettigrew could think. It was all he knew. Sirius Black was coming. The dangerous friend. The one who would find him.

Peter had to stop him. There was no other way, no time to explain. He had been forced to betray them, his mother had been threatened, the Dark Lord was so strong, so terrifying. He wasn’t human. Peter had never been a brilliant wizard. He was afraid to die.

But Sirius would have died.

He knew that, had known it the whole time. Sirius Black would have died rather than betray James and Lily.

But if Peter had ever been like Sirius, his life would have been easier. Things would have not come so far.

Peter ran through the muggle streets, ignoring the looks his cloak elicited. Soon there would be much more interesting things to see. Sirius Black was coming. Peter was going to be ready.

Because even rats know how to avoid a trap.

***

She was somewhere in that house. Her beautiful red hair splayed across the floor. Her wand probably still hanging from her lifeless hand. Lily Evans. Dead.

And it was his fault. 

Severus Snape stood alone in the darkness of Godric’s Hollow, numb. Dumbledore would be here soon and the Order too. But for now, Severus was alone. Lily was in there somewhere. He didn’t dare go into the house. Didn’t trust himself not to get caught. Didn’t trust himself ever to leave.

He had been a loyal servant. He had passed on the information just like he was supposed to. He had played his many roles well. He had begged Voldemort to be merciful. He had done everything that he could just as he should.

But she was dead.

And Severus Snape was alone and alive in the dark of night. Voldemort was gone and soon the world would be celebrating. Everyone was lucky to be alive.

Severus couldn’t even feel the tears as they slid down his face.

***

Wormtail was right there in front of him and the world narrowed to a single point. Peter Pettigrew. Sirius could hardly recognize him now, sniveling and cowering, a traitor. How had this man ever been his friend? How could he not have known, not even have guessed?

He drew his wand, advancing slowly on the man he had once called a friend. “Stand and face me, Peter. Draw your wand, you miserable scumbag.” Peter was backing up slowly, headed towards the middle of the street. He did not raise his wand.

Sirius felt hot anger racing through his veins, momentarily supplanting the numbness. Suddenly, he didn’t want him to draw his wand. He didn’t want him to fight. He wanted Peter to scream while he ripped him limb from limb.

“Oh, no, Sirius! No! Someone help! He killed Lily and James and now he’s going to kill me too! Help!” For a moment, Sirius was stunned, the reverie broken. He bore the guilt of their deaths, but he would never have raised a wand against them. What was Peter playing at?

There were people in the streets now, Muggles come to watch the show. Peter’s voice wailed on and on, accusing, denying, smearing Lily and James’ deaths hours after he ended their lives. Sirius raised his wand once more, sick to death of the lies.

“Avada—“

_Bang!_

Sirius felt himself being blown back a pace, the air rent with screams. He shook his head, trying to clear the slight buzzing between his ears. He could not make sense of what had happened. And then, he saw the robes.

Peter was gone.

Sirius moved to investigate and for the second time that night, he knew what he would find before he got there. Peter’s tattered robes, an open sewer hatch. A smattering of blood. A single finger.

He picked up the bloody finger in his own nerveless ones, looking around. There was smoke everywhere, swirling lazily around the bodies of fallen Muggles. People were crying. Distantly, Sirius heard the first pops of apparating ministry officials. 

The clarity was blinding. Little Peter Pettigrew, the stupid, silly one who laughed at all of James’ jokes and couldn’t even rob the kitchens properly, had gotten the better of them all. Brilliant James with his quick wit and easy smile, Lily with her mischievous edge and profound sense of decency. He, Sirius, who prided himself on trusting only those who truly deserved it. Peter had hoodwinked them all.

“He’s a madman.” The words filtered in from what seemed like very far away. 

“Sirius Black, I should have guessed.”

“How could a man laugh at something like this? Blimey.” Sirius closed his mouth, and the laughter died away. There were hands restraining him. Someone had taken his wand. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Let him rot in Azkaban. It’s more than he deserves. They say he was their friend…” 

_Azkaban._ The word floated around his mind for a long time before it stuck. They were taking him to Azkaban. The words sunk in slowly, rocking into him with the motion of his prison cart. He didn’t remember being loaded into it. For the first time, he felt the icy presence that could only mean Dementors. They were taking him to Azkaban. Lily and James were dead, Peter had betrayed them all and they were taking him to Azkaban. The cart trundled along through the lonely night. Sirius pressed his face against the bars, watching the distant stars.

They were taking him to Azkaban for the murders of his two best friends, the truest Gryffindors he had ever known. 

He couldn’t help but think that his mother would have been proud.

***

Remus Lupin was woken by the urgent _tap-tap-tap_ of the post owl at his window. Groggily, he fished out a knut and took the _Prophet_ from its waiting talons. With a slight groan, he pushed himself off of his uncomfortable mattress, not bothering to look at the front page. It had only been a few days since the last full moon, and Remus was still feeling its effects. He desperately needed some tea.

He walked gingerly to the kitchen of his ramshackle little cabin, still clutching the newspaper. Usually, he would already have eagerly scanned its contents for news of the Order, but lately, he was just too tired. In recent months, his efforts to communicate with and recruit other werewolves had seemed more and more fruitless, all the while alienating him further from his human friends. He sighed quietly to himself. He had no right to complain. This was war, and he would play any part he could.

The tea was boiled with a wave of his wand, and he unwrapped the paper while he filled a mug.

The front page was splashed with a picture of a smoldering house. Remus stared at it for a moment, confused. It looked so familiar. Surely…

And then it hit him. Remus never heard the mug shatter on the floor. Words were jumping out at him from the page. Disjointed, incomprehensible. Voldemort. Dead. James. Lily. Dead. Peter Pettigrew. Dead. Sirius Black. Murderer. Harry Potter. Miracle. Death Eaters. Gone. Celebration. Freedom.

Remus’ eyes scanned further down the page, blurring, unbelieving. He fixed on a quote from some wizard whose name slipped mind the moment he read it. 

_We should all count ourselves very lucky…_

_The Daily Prophet_ flopped onto the soggy ground as Remus Lupin sank onto shards of broken pottery.


End file.
